Sasquatch and the Three Henchmen
by katbybee
Summary: Written for Challenge #23) Hogan's Fractured Fairy Tales – Tuttle. Rain, rain won't go away…how do bored POWs amuse themselves? Brawling is one way…Carter has another… Another for my Collection, "The War of Which We ARE a Part" Includes my O/C, the intrepid chaplain Lt. Taffy Matthews. Don't own…sigh…Enjoy!
1. A Rainy Evening

Rain. Oh, how the men in Barracks Two hated the rain! Not only did it make their lives miserable in camp, but it put a serious crimp in their business outside the camp as well. Heavy rains meant poor flying conditions; poor flying conditions meant no flights; no flights meant no downed airmen; no downed airmen meant no rescue missions and…well, you get the picture. Even London was conspicuously silent. No espionage missions had come through for the past two weeks. The Underground seemed to have floated away. And the rain continued to fall…and fall…aaaaannd fall.

Colonel Robert Hogan was sorely tempted to grab Sgt. Danny Olsen by the throat and strangle him. Right after he bounced Cpl. Peter Newkirk off the ceiling. The two men, the most quick-tempered of his crew, had been at each other all day. Their latest round of bickering seemed to be over the dubious merits of American moonshine vs. English gin. Hogan decided to go for a walk, despite the rain, just to clear his head, and escape the barracks for a while. He was so desperate; he was willing to scare up a game of chess with Klink.

With their commander's departure, the bickering grew into a full-fledged argument. Cpl. Louis LeBeau didn't help matters, as he would chime in occasionally from his place by the stove, with disparaging comments about how neither man had any taste at all. When he called Olsen something rude in French for the third time, the irate sergeant suddenly turned on the little Frenchman, and a free-for-all erupted in the barracks.

Tech. Sgt. Andrew Carter, who had been asleep at the time, was rudely awakened when LeBeau landed on him after being thrown into his bunk by Olsen. Despite his gentle nature, Carter always enjoyed a good scuffle, and he entered this one with relish; especially as he was actually only half-awake at the time.

He pushed Louis to the floor with a thump and jumped on the closest combatant, who happened to be Sgt. Walt Fitzsimmons, a tall, rangy redhead. Fitz, also a country boy, grinned and obliged Carter by knocking him tail over teakettle across the room. Fitz then moved on and dived back into the mass of bodies.

Now fully awake and sporting a beaut of a shiner, Carter tackled Taffy Matthews, who was crowing with delight as he tossed Newkirk over his shoulder in a Cornish wrestling move. Although Matthews was a lieutenant, he made it a firm policy never to let his rank stand in the way of a good brawl with the men. He reconciled this with his position as camp chaplain by considering brawls as a way to blow off steam, and therefore, therapeutic. If his superiors might not agree, well, they were in London, weren't they?

Because Matthews held black belts in several martial arts, it may have seemed suicidal for anyone to tackle him, but Carter was a different matter. He had grown up wrestling Indian-style, and was just as wily and quick as Taffy himself. He was also much stronger than he looked, so they were not as unevenly matched as it might first appear. In fact, he and Taffy had become good friends, and had often put on exhibition wrestling matches to entertain the camp. Taffy whipped around, attempting to throw Carter off, but the younger man stuck to him like a burr. He flipped onto his back and slammed Carter to the deck, winding him for a moment. The other fights slowly died out in order to watch the show.

Taffy's wolfish grin could have lighted a small city. "Alright then, mate! Let's dance, shall we?"

Carter eyed the little Welshman warily, and suddenly laughed, feeling very good indeed. His blue eyes danced with mischief, and he stepped in quite close to the now confused Matthews. He gently laid his hand on Taffy's arm and asked, "Shall I lead?"

His grip tightened and just as Taffy realized what was happening, he found himself flying through the air and out of the suddenly opened door. The next few moments were a tangle of mud, leather, and one very enraged American Colonel.

Olsen scratched his ear and sized up the sight of Hogan and Taffy sprawled in the mud and rain just outside the barracks doorway quite well: "Well… hell."

Carter stood wide-eyed, completely immobile. And completely speechless.

Hogan struggled to his feet and dragged the lieutenant up with him. Taffy immediately drew himself to his full 5'2" height, ignoring the mud and water that cascaded off him and pooled around his feet. He quickly smoothed his sodden copper hair as best he could and stood at attention before his irate commander. Hogan surveyed the wreckage throughout the room and the disheveled state of a good number of the men. He quickly zeroed in on Carter, since he was the one who had thrown Taffy through the door.

Hogan raised an eyebrow at the slightly battered blond. "Care to explain, sergeant?"

Carter ducked his head sheepishly. "Uhh, well, we were just, ummm…"

Taffy grinned, "Passin' the time, Colonel. It's the rain y'see. Got us all a bit stir crazy."

Hogan looked over the muddy chaplain, "So you decided to hold services in the barracks while I was gone?"

Taffy at least had the grace to blush as the rest of the men chuckled.

Hogan shook his head. "Alright, fellas. Knock it off. Get this place cleaned up. Carter, Taffy, get yourselves to the showers…or go stand out in the rain for a couple minutes. It's coming down in buckets. I'm gonna go hit the shower myself. LeBeau, can you make sure there's lots of hot coffee ready? I have a feeling we're gonna need it. Carter," eying the young man sternly, "I was kidding when I told you to go stand out in the rain. It's a good thing I finagled an extra hour of hot water out of Klink. Take a shower. That's an order. And do NOT, under any circumstances, catch a cold. THAT is also an order."

With that, Hogan rolled his eyes and squished his way muddily through the door into his quarters. Louis LeBeau was right behind him, attempting to mop up the mess left behind, as he muttered colorfully in at least two different languages.

~HH~


	2. A Different Sort of Diversion

Two hours later, the barracks was back to normal. There were no signs of the earlier brawl other than a few scrapes and bruises, which could be easily explained away. The one difference in the barracks had to do with the rain itself. And this difference had actually taken place a week ago. Although their roof had been repaired after LeBeau had fallen off it trying to repair it during the last heavy rains*, other barracks had not yet been repaired, and some of the men had been moved around while the repairs were being made. Therefore, there were about six extra men bunking on cots in Barracks Two. Fortunately, they, like all the prisoners in camp, were aware of Papa Bear's operation, although not everyone had the same amount of active participation.

LeBeau had made both coffee and tea, in deference to the fact that the barracks was now made up of about half British and half American prisoners, with a few odd other nationalities thrown in. He had also gathered everyone's Red Cross packages and added them to the community pantry. This evening, he handed out a variety of cookies and biscuits to go with the hot drinks.

Louis was still the only Frenchman, much to his dismay. Perhaps the oddest man there was a young Swiss farmer, named Dieter, who had decided that, although his country was neutral, he was not. He left the university he was attending in London and joined the Allies, became a crack sniper in boot camp, and eventually found himself assigned as a tail gunner on a Lancaster bomber.

Dieter had ended up in Stalag 13 and wound up being a huge asset to the operation. It turned out he had an uncanny sense of direction. Since he had been finishing his engineering degree at university, Hogan immediately put him in charge of tunnel design and maintenance. He once told Hogan that he felt that he had done more for the Allies since he had been a prisoner than he had ever done behind a tail gun. Because of his affinity for tunnels, Dieter had also been immediately tagged with the obvious moniker "Gopher."

Another of Dieter's talents was for telling stories. He was one of the few men in camp who could rival Carter for telling tall tales and yarns from home. His rich accent and vivid descriptions could keep even Carter spellbound for hours, which, given Carter's tendency towards injury and illness, also made Dieter a natural babysitter when Carter couldn't be left alone. Besides Newkirk, Dieter was also one of the few men Carter didn't resent pulling that particular duty.

On this rainy, chilly evening everyone gathered as close to the woodstove as they could. Hogan pushed Andrew a bit closer to the stove from where he was sitting, and, then moving as carefully as he could, he made his way toward the back of the group, trying to encourage Newkirk to move closer to the heat. Peter was much thinner than he should be, even though he was whipcord strong. He, along with LeBeau, had been a prisoner for about two years longer than the other members of his core team, and because of his stubbornness and continual escape attempts before Hogan had arrived, had spent much time under punishment. He had never really recovered from all the time he had spent in the cooler and other mistreatment he had received, and he, of course, would never admit it. LeBeau saw what Hogan was trying to do, and smiled sadly at him. They both knew it was pointless as long as Peter was conscious.

Olsen, also sporting a lovely black eye, was rubbing his sore cheek as he cheerfully called out, "Story time, Gopher!" The others joined in cheering their storyteller.

Dieter laughed. "But I have already told you all I know…besides, I'm tired. Get Carter to tell you one.".

Newkirk grinned, "Ahhh, come on mate, give us a break, 'ow many times can we listen to stories about buffaloes and prairie dogs?"

Dieter punctuated his words with very pointed action by rolling over in his bunk. It was clear the affable engineer had no plans to play storyteller tonight. As was his habit, Dieter had fallen asleep almost the moment his head hit his pillow.

Andrew only smiled, since he knew Peter and the others loved his stories, but also delighted in teasing him as well. He had an idea. "How about a fairy tale, Peter?"

Newkirk cocked his head as if he hadn't heard him right. "A what, mate?"

Andrew grinned wickedly. "A fairy tale. Only we tell it in turns, a few sentences at a time, and everyone can change anything about it you want. You can make it as silly or crazy as you want. The only thing is, it has to start and end with the same person. So that way, everyone gets a turn, and no one can just end it in the middle. If you don't want to play, you say 'pass', but you have to give up a cookie to the guy next to you if you don't tell your part."

The men all stared at Carter, considering his idea.

Hogan scratched his chin. "Sounds like you've done this before, Carter."

"Oh, sure, lots of times. We did it whenever we got together for holidays and stuff and sometimes on Sundays when there wasn't much else to do, 'cause we didn't work on Sundays or anything, and of course the winters are really, really long in North Dakota…sometimes it seemed like the snow would never end at all. Plus, we could get really great stories going because there's a lot of people in my family, so we could make them really long and really funny or really long and really scary or whatever." Andrew grinned as he took a deep breath after nearly running himself out of air with this statement.

Hogan looked around at the others. "Okay, sounds good to me. What do you guys think?"

There were general nods of agreement and some scattered comments. Newkirk scratched his ear and lit yet another cigarette. He playfully slapped Fitzimmon's hand when he reached for one of his cookies. "Leave off ya sod!" The rangy redhead only grinned and grabbed the cookie anyway, wolfing it down quickly, setting off a minor scuffle at the end of the table. Cookies were serious business. The matter was quickly settled when Taffy pointedly picked up _two_ of Fitz's cookies and placed them in front of Newkirk, smiling beatifically the entire time, setting off another round of laughter.

Hogan held up a hand. "Okay, knock it off. "So, who goes first?"

Taffy shrugged. "Why not Carter? It was his idea. He can show us how it's done."

Carter smiled and nodded. "Okay, but you guys have to promise somebody will go next and keep playing. Otherwise it's no fun."

The others agreed, and thus, with another round of coffee and tea poured, story time in Barracks Two began.

~HH~


	3. Storytime

Andrew started the story, "Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks."

The men began to laugh at the mention of the codename. He raised his hand for them to quiet down as he continued.

"She got bored one day and decided to go for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. It was a pretty nice place, but she didn't know if the Germans had captured it or not, so she did some fast recon, but there was nobody around. The place seemed deserted. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in, like she owned the place."

Here Andrew stopped and looked at Olsen, who was seated next to him. "Your turn!"

Olsen scratched his head and thought for a moment before taking up the story.

"Goldilocks checked all the rooms to be sure she was alone. She swept it for bugs, but didn't find any of those, either. She then leaned her M-6 against the wall, keeping it close by. At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. She realized she had missed chow earlier. Not exactly steak and apple pie, but it would do. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl and promptly burned her kisser. 'This porridge is too hot!' she exclaimed."

Olsen then handed the story off to LeBeau. Briefly, Louis considered passing, but decided to go for it anyway.

"So, she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. It was bland and nasty, because they had not cooked it properly, and it was made from German oats, not good French oats, as they should have been. Besides, they were cold. They tasted terrible. She considered using them for wallpaper paste. Because she had no manners, and had no problem eating other people's food, she tasted the last bowl of porridge.

'Ahhh, this porridge is just right,' she said happily and she ate it all. No proper French child would consider doing such a thing, I assure you. Perhaps the child was a Boche after all." Louis complained darkly, much to the amusement of the others.

Baker, took the next turn. He put his coffee down, and composed his features into those of a serious professor, even nicking Taffy's pipe and pretending to puff it as he spoke. To complete the effect, Newkirk tilted Richard's cap to a scholarly angle. Baker crossed his eyes and then had to wait for the laughter to die down once again.

"Goldilocks went into the living room and found a radio set. She decided to use it to check in with her grandma. She had no idea how dangerous this could be, because she didn't know who owned the cottage, and she wasn't really all that bright.

There were three chairs in the room. The first one was very big and very hard. She could not move it over by the radio. 'This chair is too big!' she exclaimed." Baker used a high squeaky voice when he said this, which had the men rolling on the floor.

"The second chair was a soft squishy one. It looked comfy, so she sat in the second chair. It almost swallowed her up and she couldn't get out of it. 'This chair is too big, too!' she whined. Again, with the voice.

"So, she tried the last and smallest chair. 'Ahhh, this chair is just right,' she sighed. But just as she dragged the chair over to the radio, it broke into pieces!"

Baker grinned as a few of the men applauded his efforts and he nodded sagely, handing Taffy back his pipe.

Taffy grinned as he picked the story, his rich Welsh accent dancing through the words. "Goldilocks didn't want to stand to check out the radio, so she dragged the cushion off the big soft chair and knelt on it. She knew how to work the radio because her grandmother had taught her how in case there was ever an emergency. She keyed the mic and sent a message to her grandmother so she wouldn't worry. 'Goldilocks to Sasquatch, Goldilocks to Sasquatch, come in Sasquatch.' (The men chuckled appreciatively and Taffy grinned.)

Sasquatch, for her part, wasn't answering, so finally, the girl had to give it up.

Frustrated and tired, Goldilocks grabbed her M-6 and headed upstairs. There she found a room which covered the entire upstairs. It was a large attic which contained three beds…and three very strange beds they were indeed… She lay down in the first bed, but it was too hard. Then she lay in the second bed, but it was too soft. Then she lay down in the third bed and it was just right. Goldilocks fell asleep." Taffy turned and nodded to Walt Fitzimmons, who paled, and Taffy, who'd forgotten his problem, could've kicked himself.

Fitz, hopelessly shy, tended to get to get tongue-tied when he had to string more than a few words together, since he stuttered badly when he got nervous. He stared hard at the two cookies sitting in front of him and sighed heavily. He pressed his lips into a thin line and silently shoved a cookie over to Hogan with a frown. Although it was in him to protest at first, Hogan simply nodded and grinned at Fitz, "Your loss," he shrugged, as he crunched the cookie with relish. He accepted the silent "thank you" with a quick wink and turned to his audience. He had decided the story was much too tame for his taste.

He decided to ramp things up a bit. He looked over at Carter. "Any rule against a storyteller recruiting help?"

Carter thought about it for a minute. "No sir, not as far as I know. Besides, even if there was, you outrank me, boy, I mean sir." He said this so seriously, the others all laughed hysterically.

As things quieted down, Hogan pointed to Garlotti and Newkirk. "How about you two? Wanna give it a go?"

Garlotti shrugged and nodded. Newkirk looked dubious. "Do I 'ave to give up me biscuits if I say no?"

Hogan shook his head at the laughter as the two non-coms agreed and Hogan went on.

"We're gonna tag-team the next part. Goldilocks is about to find out why she shouldn't mess around in other people's houses. See, Goldilocks is about to meet the Three Henchman." He had to wait for the noise to die down as everyone practically howled. Newkirk actually fell off his seat.

Hogan pointed to Garlotti, "You're Klink Henchman, and you, Newkirk, you're Hochstetter Henchman and I'll be Burkhalter Henchman."

Carter raised a hand, confusion on his face. Hogan quirked an eyebrow at him.

"But isn't Goldilocks supposed to be afraid of the Henchmen?" Carter's overtly innocent question just about did Hogan in.

"Hey!" Carter yelped when Newkirk smacked him. "Ya ruddy git!"

And Hogan was off, playing narrator of the story, his helpers now huddled next to him, ready to follow his lead. There were times throughout their portion it became difficult to hear as the men were laughing so hard.

"As she was sleeping, the three Henchmen came home."

Hogan's voice took on a loud, nasal German accent each time he imitated the overbearing General.

"Someone's been eating my porridge," growled Burkhalter Henchman.

Newkirk spoke each of his lines as if Hochstetter had suddenly inhaled helium, a credible, if hilarious combination of Mama Bear and Henchman.

"Someone's been eating my porridge," said Hochstetter Henchman.

Garlotti pitched his voice into a perfect imitation of the beleaguered Kommandant in a flawless German accent, which not only shocked the others, but cracked them up as well…a perfect Baby Bear. Garlotti only shrugged at Hogan's raised eyebrows.

"Someone's been eating my porridge and they ate it all up!" cried Klink Henchman.

"Someone's been sitting in my chair," growled Burkhalter Henchman."

"Someone's been sitting in my chair," said Hochstetter Henchman.

"Someone's been sitting in my chair and they've broken it all to pieces," cried Klink Henchman.  
They decided to look around some more and when they got upstairs to the bedroom, Burkhalter Henchman growled, "Someone's been sleeping in my bed."

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed, too" said Hochstetter Henchman.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed and she's still there!" exclaimed Klink Henchman.

The three men took slight bows from their seats, as the men laughed and applauded their performance. and looked at Andrew. He grinned and cracked his knuckles.

"Just then, Goldilocks woke up and saw the three henchmen. She screamed, "Help! Sasquatch, help me!" Goldilocks ran down the stairs, opened the door, and ran away into the forest. And she never returned to the home of the three henchmen. The End"

Everyone stretched and kidded around a bit about their storytelling session until Hogan noticed something. "Hold it fellas. Listen."

Everyone froze, puzzled. Only silence greeted them. And suddenly the truth hit them. Silence. Newkirk grinned and flung open the door. The rain had stopped sometime during the storytelling. As the others crowded around, Peter flung an arm around Andrew as they stood in the doorway admiring the clearing sky. "Well mate, apparently, your people can make rain by dancin', and make it go away by tellin' stories…that's some talent!" He grinned, glancing sidelong at his best mate. Carter smiled widely but nevertheless as they shut the door, Peter found himself buried under 140 pounds of Lakota warrior…

The End

*A/N: Refer to Episode "The Gypsy" Season 6, Episode 13. Also, Sgt. Walt Fitzimmons is an O/C of my creation, who appears in various stories.


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